


My Next Shot Will Be Permanent

by lovers_instead



Category: OK K.O.! Let's Be Heroes
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Could be interpreted as one-sided or pre-relationship, Depression, Disownment, F/F, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, one (1) image
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-09-26 15:31:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20391997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovers_instead/pseuds/lovers_instead
Summary: AU in which actions have consequences. Elodie learns to live without her powers.





	1. Dark Plaza

When you were a child, you dreamed of becoming a famous and powerful hero, beloved by all.

When Foxtail said she needed the valedictorian of P.O.I.N.T. Prep to accompany her on a critical mission, you had pictured yourself facing off against swarms of shadowy figures bent on destroying innocent lives.

Never in your eighteen years of life have you imagined yourself as a wrecking ball operator.

You suppose it's not all bad. _At least I can spare a moment to accessorise properly_, you muse to yourself as you adjust your miniature construction hat. You just try not to think about the way that little boy was wailing back in the car park. What was his name again? Koh? Something about his name seems hauntingly familiar, but you don't know why. You'd only met him briefly when those Lakewood hooligans had crashed your sleepover with Enid at the end of the previous semester. You don't usually bother yourself with trying to remember the names of the _other half_, but you promised Enid you would put in a little more effort. It's not been as easy as you'd hoped to keep in touch since she left the Academy— the security drones' routines are stricter than ever since Chip Damage was destroyed, your reluctance to text her has nothing to do with the pit of guilt in your stomach— but you can still clearly remember those whispered conversations in the darkness of your dorm room. You'd been so thrilled to have your best friend back. To have a friend at all, if you're honest.

You really try not to think about the shocked and hurt expression on Enid's face as you'd held up the statute 1064-092 for Foxtail to announce.

Your current task is to complete the preparations for Phase 1: Clear the Plaza. You know that well enough; you stayed up all night memorising the official documentation. Though you're not really eager to take on such an unpopular job, you won't be caught giving a less than stellar performance in the execution. The automatic doors close behind you with a _whoosh_ as you enter the final building on your checklist: Gar's Bodega and Hero Supply. All you have to do is check that each room is unoccupied so the plaza can be cleared for demolition. Phase 1 hasn't been particularly difficult so far, since every hero in Lakewood emerged to gawk at the P.O.I.N.T. fleet's arrival in the car park. You haven't seen a soul.

Gar's is no different. The shelves stand silently, packed with all manner of miscellaneous heroic implements. On your right, there are a couple of boxes slumped haphazardly against a shelf, like someone was in the middle of stocking them. In the center of the shop floor, a mop and a spilled bucket lie in a puddle of soapy water. There's an air of earnest untidiness about the brightly coloured rows of merchandise and the snack machines— even with no one inside, this place feels like a home. Forgetting your duties for a moment, you wander between the aisles of crisps until you reach the checkout counter. You lay your palm on the surface. You imagine Enid putting her feet up here every day, ignoring customers and goofing around with her friends. You remember how you sauntered into this bodega, once, long ago, hoping to catch her attention. If things had gone differently back then...

You forcefully wrench your hand back to your side and finish clearing the building. You can't afford to lose sight of your goal now, not when you're so close to achieving the status and glory you've worked towards for your entire life. You hurriedly exit the bodega and trot back towards the P.O.I.N.T. entourage. It's true that you never pictured yourself as a lackey handling large, dirty construction equipment. Luckily for you, Geoffrey taught you how to drive shortly before your parents fired him for taking you to visit Lakewood Plaza. And for teaching you how to drive. A wrecking ball can't be that different from a limo tank.

* * *

"Listen to yourself, Enid! There are troopers crawling around every square inch of the surface. We're in the middle of a war here, we can't just start trying to get in contact with the enemy!"

You blink a few times to ward off the blue glare of the row of computer screens in front of you, then lean back and take a sip of your iced coffee. You had it smuggled specially from Neo Riot City. Just because the P.O.I.N.T. army's rations are starting to run thin after almost two months, that doesn't mean you have to deny yourself the basic enjoyments of life. Besides, you need the caffeine, if Foxtail is going to insist that you monitor the productivity of the Glorb extraction operation for sixteen hours every day (not including overtime). The mission is taking longer than expected, and you can tell that she's starting to get frazzled. You expend no small amount of effort each day on assuring her that everything is running smoothly— including intercepting clandestine radio transmissions.

"It's not ‘the enemy,’ it's Elodie! You know, the girl I've known since I was twelve? She's changed, she _promised_ me—"

"So? You watched her literally destroy the entire plaza with a wrecking ball, right? We were all there!"

More like accidental radio transmissions, really. You know that the majority of the resistance's technical know-how is concentrated in one little kappa. Given enough pressure and responsibilities, anyone will start to let little details slip their mind. You're beginning to feel a similar strain, yourself, and you're not a mere six-to-eleven years old. You feel kind of bad for keeping Foxtail in the dark about the whole "literal underground resistance" thing. However, you also feel that her reaction to finding out about it will most likely involve your dearest childhood friend getting disempowered, or worse. Anyway, it's not like they've actually managed to do anything to sabotage P.O.I.N.T.'s goals. Yet.

"Red, she was trying to signal me, I'm positive. She pretended to drop her clipboard, and when she bent over to pick it up, she flashed the 'okay' sign directly at me! She was telling me she supports K.O.'s resistance!"

It's quite sweet of Enid to take up for you, really. That girl truly is unfailingly loyal to her friends. Even though you're committed to the mission, you can't help but admire the sheer guts of this ragtag group of rebels. Not everyone is brave enough to stand up to an organization as famed and powerful as P.O.I.N.T.— least of all, you. Of course, they'd have been totally quashed by now if you hadn't been meticulously forging their Glorb harvesting records for them for weeks. It's not like Foxtail ever specifically ordered you to report any whisperings of a revolution to her. A sweat drop rolls down your temple. It's getting pretty warm in this tiny concrete room, so you wriggle out of the top part of your P.O.I.N.T. uniform and neatly fold it on the table, next to your keyboard.

You don't wear your personal hero outfit underneath your uniform, of course. That would be ridiculous. You are wearing the standard issue P.O.I.N.T. dry-fit shirt and spandex leggings just like everybody else. In terms of dress, the only perk that comes with being Foxtail's personal assistant is that you're allowed to appear in public without your helmet. This pleases you greatly, since it aligns with your life motto, that ancient adage: _You can't fight crime if you ain't cute._

You are also wearing the "BEST" necklace that Enid gave to you, all those years ago. It's the only personal effect you brought with you on the mission; your cabin in the P.O.I.N.T. flying cruiser is stocked with more than enough makeup, toiletries, and spare garments for a few months. Still, you made sure to grab the necklace from your desk drawer before you left. You were overcome with an odd feeling that you would never return to P.O.I.N.T. HQ as a recruit— a feeling that you can't shake, even now.

"Are you kidding me? How do you know she even saw you in your disguise? She could've been playing the circle game, for all we know!"

Oops. You actually had been playing the circle game. You'd thought that Enid could use a little levity to disrupt the dismal atmosphere. You suppose she couldn't see you blowing a raspberry under your helmet.

"Can you guys quit arguing for a minute? All this yelling is making my undercut hurt."

"Sorry, Rad. Fine, I give up. I guess we'll just let go of our only chance to get someone on the inside to help us."

"Hang on, Enid. Wait. Enid—"

Enid has apparently stormed off in a huff, and the future girl has followed her. The voices fade away as the pair move away from the main console in the resistance base. The alien boy resumes snoring. At this point, you think it's safe to assume that no further entertainment will come along for a while. With a few keystrokes, you permanently erase all record of the audio transmission, and of your eavesdropping. What Foxtail doesn't know can't hurt her, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> do you ever get so mad about a wasted plot opportunity that you write it yourself


	2. A Couple of Sacrifices

After two months, you're finally starting to get the hang of piloting the P.O.I.N.T. airship. The schematics are classified, so you’d never had access to any instructional material until about two weeks before this mission. The subsequent cram session had got you through the initial trip to Lakewood well enough, but now you're finally starting to feel at home with all of the switches and dials. Besides, it's not like you have to decide on the manoeuvres yourself. You just have to obey Foxtail's orders and press the corresponding sequences of buttons. It's not hard at all, really.

Which is why it doesn't make sense that your temples start to get sweaty when Foxtail barks out the order to engage the disempower ray.

"But, Ms. Foxtail," you blurt, "there are still heroes on that thing!" You know that the strength of the disempower ray is based on the volume of the energy reserves of the weapon being used to launch it. While zapping Mr. Gar with a small handgun produced a temporary effect, a shot straight from the bridge of the airship will be permanent.

"And what's a couple of sacrifices in the grand scheme of things? This is for the greater good of all heroes, Elodie."

"Right..." You look at the weapons display, at the target locked onto Enid's face. Somehow, it almost seems like she's looking directly at you. You wrench your eyes away from the screen and frantically glance over the array of controls before you. If only there were some way to dilute the disempower ray, or divert it— but it's too late, Foxtail is watching, you've hesitated too long already— you shut your eyes tight and slam your fist directly onto the launch button.

Foxtail laughs as the disempower ray begins charging. Somehow, it doesn't strike you as the appropriate demeanour for someone begrudgingly making sacrifices for the greater good of all heroes. You trust and admire Foxtail, but... what if shooting giant lasers at your friends isn't the right move? It's too late to reconsider now, though.

Somewhere above the ship, you can hear some kind of yelling commotion breaking out. A few seconds later, the ship's energy shields go down. Foxtail stops laughing. The disempower ray completes its startup sequence and automatically fires. You force yourself to watch as the laser beam shoots out towards the Lakewood Plaza Turbo defenders. To your surprise, the robot engulfs itself in a field of purple light unlike anything you've seen before. It's somehow reflecting the disempower ray right back at you!

"They think they can stop me?! Elodie, shields up!"

"Commencing auxiliary shield activation, ma'am..."

You know that the auxiliary shields will be perfectly capable of blocking the blast. You are less sure, however, of how many more times the robot will be able to muster the ability to reflect the disempower ray. As you begin to key in the activation sequence, your eye happens to land on the COCKPIT OPEN lever. At the sight of it, your mind is suddenly gripped by the memory of Enid's foot connecting with your jaw. Holding hands in the hallway of Lakewood Public Middle School. Laughing and turning your back as she cried. Mocking her in public. Shoving her off of the climbing ropes in Strength class. Insulting her friends. Destroying the place she loved the most.

You've never really apologized for any of it. And still she forgave you. You figure it's about time you returned the favour. You wrench the lever downwards with as much force as you can.

"Elodie! What do you think you're doing?!"

"It's like you said..." You lean back and smile. You can feel a deep, primal fear clawing at your insides, but your mind is racing far ahead of your instincts. You suddenly feel elated, like a huge burden has been lifted. "Nothing wrong with a couple of sacrifices if it's for the greater good."

* * *

You didn't actually mean to crash the ship. The impact of the laser had flung you away from the controls. Far from regaining your footing, you had simply lain there as the ship careened downwards, your nervous system consumed with a tingling sensation that was like thousands of bees stinging you at once.

_That will have been the genetic material being altered in every cell of my body_, you think faintly. Your inner monologue has turned analytical; you feel completely detached from the world around you and even your own body. You think you are lying down flat, but you can't be sure. You can see a glorious blue sky above you, but nothing else. Now that the vigorous buzzing has ceased, your entire body aches. Groaning, you thrust your left arm upwards against the sky (which has suddenly turned green in your vision) and hook your elbow over something nearby— the edge of the hole in the ship's cockpit. You haul yourself up into a sitting position. Everything is so bright. You would be seriously starting to wonder if you were still alive, if it weren't for the very real pounding in your head.

A substantial crowd of observers has gathered around the impact crater. There is almost no chatter; a collective shock hangs over the crowd. P.O.I.N.T. troopers and rebels alike have all come together to see what has become of the bushy-tailed commander. Speaking of which, you wonder where she's gotten to.

"MY SHIP!" Ah, crap. She was lying right next to you in the wreckage. She's barrelling towards you, and she looks positively furious. You scamper up the side of the crater on all fours, then hastily clamber to your feet. It seems like she hasn't recovered enough to follow you, especially without the aid of her propeller tail, so she settles for pointing at you accusatorially and yelling.

"You! TRAITOR! How could you turn P.O.I.N.T.'s weapon against your organization and yourself?! I have NEVER seen such a flagrant display of disregard for self and duty—"

"I did what I had to do for the sake of the innocent people of Lakewood. Who knows how much damage the disempower ray would have done if I hadn't allowed it to take us out instead? As a hero of P.O.I.N.T. Superhero Squad, my duty is to ensure the safety of the people of the Neutral Zone. I will always be real, and stand up for the weaker heroes against injustice, because I. Always. Win. No matter what the cost..."

You try to take a step forward towards Foxtail, but you stumble. Somehow it seems like your righteous speech isn't having the impact you hoped it would. That's quite a shame, since you've been practicing it for years in Charisma class. It's getting a little difficult to concentrate on your words— your head is still spinning so hard you can't remember if there's supposed to be two suns in the sky or not. Luckily, K.O. takes over for you.

"Forget it, Foxtail! We reflected your disempower ray right back at you. That's right: you're completely—"

"POWERLESS! I'm... powerless..."

You lose track of the thread of the conversation at this point. K.O., Silverspark, and Mr. Gar climb down into the crater to comfort Foxtail, who is now crying. You really are trying quite hard to focus on this important and sentimental moment, but you've become somewhat nauseated from the effort of standing up, so you concentrate on covering your mouth with your hand instead. You can still process the basic gist of what’s happening over the dull buzzing in your head. Foxtail apologizes to her old teammates and offers to do anything she can to help rebuild the plaza. A loudmouthed man flying an office desk appears and tries to steal the Glorbs. Foxtail hurls K.O. through the air, and the chicken-man goes soaring across the street and lands on a factory building, which explodes. The alien boy with the eyeliner manages to manipulate the falling Glorb chest to give K.O. a soft landing. Everyone cheers. Holding your left elbow with your other hand in an effort to keep yourself upright, you start scanning through the sea of helmets, looking for purple hair. There— no, wait. That's just Crinkly Wrinkly.

The buzzing sensation at the base of your skull is growing in intensity. You instinctively look upwards just as the sun is blocked by a familiar silhouette.

"No," you whisper. "It can't be..."

"I thought we already destroyed this faker!" Everyone else has spotted him, now. You finally see Enid, decked out in her resistance garb, her fist raised in defiance. About ten feet above her, a man hovers in the air, suspended by fire and thunderous noise rocketing out from his boots. His leotard is purple and black and his eyes emit red sparks. Despite the aesthetic changes, there's no way you could ever mistake his identity. You own the complete limited edition run of his official action figure line.

"You destroyed the old version of me. The weak one. The trash." Chip Damage's enunciation is still deliberate and curt, but there's a much more sinister robotic twang in his voice now. It's like the showy veneer of noble bravado has been stripped away.

"I never authorized this!" Foxtail looks like she would fly right up there and punch her former pet project into next year, if she could still fly. Her tail limply flops around behind her. Unable to resist the urge anymore in the face of this latest danger, you look down at your own palms. You twitch your fingers, which is normally enough to get a small field of pink sparkles crackling around your hands. Nothing.

"The empty shell of holo-drones may be gone, but you never disposed of my source code. I have a new master now. He rebuilt me to be stronger. Better. More powerful." He strikes his chest twice with his fist. The resulting hollow echoes send shivers down your spine. He's not a hologram anymore. He's real. "Together, my master and I will bring about a new era of peace and prosperity that you and Greyman were always too soft to commit to. We must go to him now. **P.O.I.N.T. FORCES, RETREAT**."

Something odd happens when Chip utters his last three words. Your vision suddenly seems a couple of shades darker, and your mind is filled with static-like numbness. As you watch the android pivot and soar away into the sky, you feel an uncontrollable urge to follow him. You turn to the right and take a few shaky steps. Your ship is totally wrecked, it won't do at all— you've got to get to... the wrecking ball. You are about to set about tearing up whatever is left of the Glorb excavation site to look for your tiny construction hat when you feel a warm hand on your shoulder.

"Elodie. Please don't go." Enid's eyes are shining brightly. All around you, swarms of uniformed bodies are marching in an orderly fashion towards the fleet of P.O.I.N.T. vehicles in the car park. However, only the original troopers seem to be heeding Chip's order; the forcefully enlisted Lakewood heroes seem unaffected. Every second that your feet remain planted in place, the vibrations in your head grow more unbearable. Your vision has almost blacked out completely.

"Enid... I have to follow him..."

"No, you don't. You're your own hero, remember? Stay here. With me."

As the P.O.I.N.T. fleet takes off and flies towards the horizon, the rumbling of the engines fading into the distance, Enid's face swims into sharper focus before you. The dark red haze in your mind is starting to dissipate. You venture a shaky smile at her. _I'm okay._

The expression of relief on Enid's face is nothing short of enormous. Her hand's grip on your shoulder lessens slightly, but she doesn't let go. Behind her, in the crater, you can see Silverspark and Mr. Gar each holding one of Foxtail's hands, convincing her not to go along with the rest of the army as Enid had done with you. The dust has settled. There is only one sun shining in the sky, which is a gorgeous blue once again. The citizens of Lakewood seem to let out a collective sigh as the plaza comes to life again with excited chattering. It's finally over, at least for now. Little K.O. beams the brightest of all through the layer of grime and resistance eyeliner smeared on his face.

"You guys, check your POW cards!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This concludes the re-write portion of our show.


	3. Going Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This section contains the original characters. Also, the disownment.

By the time you reach the gate of your family's property, the last wisps of twilight are fading away. Mr. Gar and Silverspark tasked themselves with ferrying everyone home from the scene of the confrontation, and you were too tired to do anything but comply as you were ushered into the teal car with the mace on the front. You raise your hand in farewell as it speeds off to its next destination, then turn to the tall iron gate. You don't have a key, but you remember the servants' bypass code for the electronic doorbell. You swing the gate shut behind you as gently as you can— for some reason, you feel that you mustn't be detected— and set off along the long gravel driveway.

As soon as you knock on the front door, one of the maids opens it and sweeps you into the foyer. She welcomes you home, and you force yourself to smile in response. You really just want to be alone right now. You are about to bolt up the grand marble staircase when the maid informs you that your parents are sitting in the parlour. You turn around and head into the heavily ornamented east hallway, cursing inwardly as you weave between expensive statues and tapestries. Of course they expect an audience.

When you reach the fifth door on the left, you knock on it. All of the doors in this house look the same— black mahogany with gold leaf— but you know the layout by heart. The sound of your knock ricochets down the uncarpeted hallway into the nighttime blackness, which makes you wince.

After a long moment, a muffled response comes: "Enter."

The parlour looks exactly as you remember it, for the most part. It's a mid-sized room filled with strategically placed chairs and low tables. A chandelier hangs from the ceiling, but it's not particularly spectacular compared to the ones in the foyer and the main dining room. Beneath it, in the center of the room, are two black mahogany thrones. The left one is your father's; the right, your mother's. They always sit here to receive you when you return home from school for semester break, but you haven't left the Academy for the past two years. The walls are decorated with silk wallpaper. You've never known what colour, since every inch of all four of them is crammed with portraits of varying shapes and sizes. Every distant relation is accounted for in this room, including those by marriage, all the way back to the beginning of human memory. No matter where you stand, you can feel the full weight of familial obligation in hundreds of judgmental gazes. At least, that's how it seemed to you when you were younger. There is one thing that's different about the parlour compared to the way it's always been. On the far side of the room, behind your parents' seats, their two larger-than-life portraits seem to loom over their actual presence, effectively doubling the power of their intimidation. This is the same as usual, but between the two parental figures, in the spot of honour, there is nothing but a gaping void. In that large rectangular space, the wallpaper is visible: a faded green.

You hope it's just out for cleaning.

Even though you're not wearing a dress, you drop into your customary curtsey. You know you must look quite different from the last time your parents saw you, more than two years ago. Your P.O.I.N.T. uniform is torn to shreds. Your hair has grown over the past two months; it just barely brushes your shoulders. Worst of all, you think your eyeliner might've gotten smudged when you were in that explosion.

The room is utterly silent. There's not even a rustle from the ornate birdcage in the corner, even though the parakeets usually chatter excitedly at the mere sight of you. Dozens of pairs of eyes— flesh and oil paint alike— stare down at you unblinkingly. You suppress the urge to clear your throat.

"We heard," says your father at length, "what you did. It's in the news."

You nod. The silence resumes. He stares straight ahead, his mouth pulled into a hard line beneath his green-blond moustache. You start to wonder if that's all he had planned to say to you. At last, he begins again.

"Is it true," his voice is more faltering than usual, "that you... that you're..." He withdraws a piece of holo-paper from the pocket of his maroon suit and thrusts it forward at you with a jabbing motion. His hand flies back to his side as you take the paper. You can feel the blood drain from your face as you turn it over to inspect.

You hadn't brought your copy of your POW card along on the mission, and there was no way you were going to ask if anyone had one on hand at the plaza earlier. Honestly, your plan up until this moment has been to simply never check your card again, but now you can't avoid the material reality staring you in the face. On the card, the picture of you now wears the P.O.I.N.T. soldier uniform. Beneath that, your name is still there in the box, but it appears greyed out. The power level readout is also grey, and there is no numeral in the box. Instead, there is just a blocky outline of an X.

"I... well, you see, I realised that it would be easier to defy Foxtail if— I know it sounds bad, since she was my superior, but defying her was the only way, she was going to... Well, I had actually already obeyed her and launched the laser, but they managed to reflect it once, you see, so I just thought—"

"Get to the point, girl." Your father's features have drawn together so tightly it looks like his face is about to collapse in on itself. You take a deep breath.

"I lost my powers."

Upon hearing this, he visibly relaxes. He settles back in his chair. His face resumes a neutral expression, mirroring the image above his head.

"Very well, then. That will be all. You may leave."

"... Leave?" The POW card slips from your fingers and flutters to the floor. You can scarcely comprehend what he's said. You must have misheard him.

"I have no further need to speak with you. You may leave the premises now."

"What? But I am no longer affiliated with P.O.I.N.T., and I've graduated from the Academy—"

"I won't have a _freak_ living under this roof."

Your heart is racing. You still can't fully understand what is happening. Your mouth opens and starts making sputtering sounds of its own accord.

"Fr— But where will I go? Why— you can't do this! I'm your daughter!"

Lightning flashes in his eyes, now. "I have no daughter."

You feel disoriented. The stately portraits on the walls seem to be falling inwards towards you. You tear your eyes away from your father's impassive brown face and look towards the room's other occupant for the first time since you entered. Her reddish-black hair is still just as shiny as that of the portrait behind her— dyed, you're sure. Her face is, as always, mask-like, her arched eyebrows aloof. Your mother has never been one to go against your father's wishes. She's pragmatic like that. Still, she had occasionally offered you a moment of affection in between her strict lectures during your childhood.

"Mummy. Please." You stare at her, internally begging her to show some backbone for the first time in her life, for the sake of her only child. As you watch, she slowly turns her head to the side. The woman who gave birth to you, who trained you in opera and ballet, who bought you your first computer and taught you to code a rudimentary forum, now closes her eyes and is silent. You expected as much. You turn back to your father.

"May I at least gather my belongings," you say quickly, thinking of your Chip Damage limited edition second run figure with the black boots, "before I—"

"Enough! Get out of here, get out of my sight!"

Time to go. As you spin on your heel and hurry out of the parlour, you hear a tell-tale crackle of thunder behind you. He always takes great care not to harm anyone— bad for one's public image— but your father's outbursts when he loses control of his temper can be quite destructive to his immediate environment. You know your mother has likely taken shelter as well. Just in case, you take a small detour on your way to the mansion's side entrance, just to avoid encountering him on his way to his study. You know that there's no time to stop to retrieve anything, but you would really like to avoid another confrontation right now. Your boots slip slightly on the immaculately waxed floors of the dark ornate halls. Time is of the essence, but you take care to maintain the shuffle-sliding gait that produces the least amount of noise. Although you've returned home to visit only scarcely in the past four years, you know your route well.

You've scampered past the billiards room and the second library and are about to clear the kitchen doorway when a hand emerges from the darkness and grabs your left shoulder. You yelp and instinctively raise your arms to summon your bow— but of course, nothing happens.

Your mother does not say anything. She only extends her hand towards yours. Her fingers are wrapped around a small object— a black and pink key fob. You take it. You understand: this is the most support you're going to get from your mother. She's done everything she can. You look into her black eyes for a moment— she doesn't move a single muscle of her face, she doesn't even blink— and then you hurry away from her, down the hall and through the door into the night. As you sprint across the side lawn towards the garage compound, you don't look back.


	4. Lakewood

“Be right out!”

You finish applying your mascara and press a button on your portable vanity. Once it’s finished folding itself up, you stow it in the seat pocket in front of you. When you’d gone back to the wreckage of the P.O.I.N.T. ship a few days ago, you’d been able to scavenge a decent amount of living supplies. Well, you found enough makeup and toiletries to last you for a good while, but food and clothes have proven to be a bit trickier to come by. You put your hair up in a bun using a hair tie that your informant stole on your behalf from Enid’s work locker, along with an old green Lakewood Public hoodie of hers, which you now wear with your black leggings and your P.O.I.N.T. boots. Standing as much as the low ceiling will allow, you neatly arrange the blankets in your sleeping area. The obnoxious pounding on the hull continues. The sound isn’t muffled much by the window curtains, which you always keep drawn. You shout again that you’re coming and wriggle into the roof hatch.

It’s early, but the sun’s glare is already harsh. You squint against the light as you haul yourself over the lip of the hatch and slide down the outside of the limo tank to the asphalt below. Your hands squeak loudly along the shiny exterior of the vehicle, and you can’t help but grunt as your feet hit the ground. Your entrances and exits aren’t as graceful as they used to be.

“What do you have for me today,” you ask as you dust off your hoodie, “Radicles?”

“Dunno. I found it in the back of the break room fridge.” He gives you a goofy grin as he hands you a takeaway bag filled with what are obviously freshly cooked lightning tacos. You roll your eyes. You withdraw two cans of Doctor Twisty soda from the bag and pass one back to him. He guzzles half the can in one swig, belches, then launches into an excited rant about a Glorb-eating dragon. You lean against the limo tank and sip your own fizzy drink as you listen.

You’ve found Radicles’s companionship to be more enjoyable than you expected. The terms of your arrangement are simple: each morning, he covertly brings you some food from the bodega. In exchange, you are obligated to listen to his braggadocious accounts of his adventures with K.O. and Enid on Mr. Gar’s special missions. Even though his stories are obviously exaggerated, you can tell that underneath his doltish exterior, he truly cares for his friends. Also, he has a great eye for fashion. You’ve almost forgiven him for stealing Enid from you in middle school.

He’s been talking for about three minutes now. You expect he’ll be done shortly. Then he’ll be off to work with the others. With all three bodegamen safely away on missions for the majority of the day, you can venture out from the alley you keep the tank parked in. You spend most of your time each day wandering around the plaza and the surrounding residential areas. You keep your hood up so as to avoid being recognized, and your solitude usually goes undisturbed. Ever since you lost your powers, you’ve had a sense that the entire world has changed in a fundamental way. During your walks, you find yourself entranced by the smallest details, like the cracks in the sidewalk and the tiny dinosaurs’ nests in the bushes. It’s nice… particularly the distraction from your inner thoughts that the stimulation of the outside world provides. Theoretically, you suppose it’s a bit dangerous to wander around on your own with absolutely no means of self-defence in the event that you encounter a villain, but you haven’t felt particularly concerned about your own well-being lately. You’ve also spent quite a bit of time at the Lakewood library, at midday when the sun gets too hot. At first, you tried to read some of your favourite archery magazines, but it upset you too much, so you switched to inter-dimensional physics books. You’ve never been disturbed there, either— something about the day-to-day antics you’ve observed in the plaza tells you that reading isn’t a particular favourite pastime of the local populace.

“Then I punched that dragon right in its face! And K.O. fed it some Glorbs and it turned into a rainbow, or something. By the way, your tank’s pretty sweet, but I could help you give it some sick upgrades, if—"

“Ha-HA! I knew there was no stray cat! You’ve been out here sneaking around with— ELODIE?!”

You drop your Doctor Twisty can in surprise. Radicles panics and eats his. Enid is standing at the entrance to the alleyway. Her face has just about turned blue with shock. K.O. peeks out from behind her, holding an armful of cat toys and supplies, looking extremely disappointed.

“Elodie.” Enid pinches the bridge of her nose. Her voice has taken on that sweet tone that she only uses when she’s very angry. “Have you been living out of your car?”

“I—”

“She doesn’t have a choice, her parents kicked her out!” You barely suppress a glare at Radicles’s outburst. He’s probably trying to help you. You never really had much faith in his powers of secrecy, anyway. It was only a matter of time.

“Oh my Cob, that’s horrible. I’m so sorry.” Enid’s face softens with sympathy. The sight puts a lump in your throat. This is why you didn’t want her to find out. After everything that’s happened between you, her pity is unbearably mortifying. The look is gone after a moment, however. “Wait. How do you shower?”

“Ehm…”

“Don’t answer that.” Now she looks truly furious. You expect steam to start shooting out of her ears any second. K.O.’s eyes are wide.

“You know, Enid," you venture, "it’s really not so bad. It hasn’t even been a full week yet. And it’s not a car, it’s a limo tank. Luxury model. It’s quite spacious, the seats are leather—”

“Okay,” Enid interrupts, “you know what? I don’t want to hear one more word out of you. I know you know my house has seven bedrooms.”

* * *

On July 27, you attend the commencement ceremony of the Lakewood Public High graduating class of 201X— exactly two months after its originally scheduled date. Up on the stage, Enid and Radicles beam from beneath their purple caps and gowns. You know that neither of them have ever been particularly strong at traditional studying, but they have received a lot of credits for extra-curricular hero work, such as “leading an underground rebellion against an oppressive regime.” Several rows of seats ahead of you, down on the main level of the Megafootball field, you can hear their families as well as K.O. cheering loudly. You think Mr. Gar might be crying, but it’s hard to tell under his glasses.

_And to think I could’ve been up there too, if I hadn’t betrayed Enid back then. _Even though you did graduate from P.O.I.N.T. Prep, your decision to attend— and all of the work, the tears, and the pain that came with it— turned out to be for nothing. You vaguely wonder what’s become of Biki and the others back at the school. You hope they’re all right under their new leader. The situation weighs on the back of your mind often, but you force yourself not to dwell on it. There’s nothing you can do. You’re just being responsible, you tell yourself.

As the class valedictorian launches into his speech, you stand and begin making your way down from the bleachers and out towards the car park. You already offered your congratulations before the ceremony, and you don’t really think you need to hear the inspirational musings of a giant baby in a Megafootball helmet. You’re sure Enid won’t mind your absence, since you have one of her kunai hidden under your hoodie (she’d insisted that you couldn’t remain unarmed). You'll be back at the haunted house long before the post-graduation festivities conclude. She probably won’t even notice you’re gone. Radicles surely won’t; he’s entirely focused on himself, as per usual. Besides, you have an appointment to keep.

You’ve almost reached the spot where you parked your limo tank when the passenger door of the van next to you flies open, smacking you in the face. You groan and raise your right hand to your eye.

“Gee, sorry kid! I gotta run, we had to cover a cat stuck in a tree on the way here, and nobody showed up to— and now we’re missing the PRIME COVERAGE of Lakewood’s freshest crop of heroes! Cam, hurry on ahead to the stage! RUN! Here, call my secretary about your doctor’s bill.” The woman fishes in her pockets and presses a business card into your free hand. Your eye hurts too much to focus at the present moment, but you don’t need to read the card to know what it says. There are leaves in her hair and she’s missing one of her triangle earrings, but the loud person before you is unquestionably Dynamite Watkins. You wonder if she ended up saving that cat herself.

“… Have I seen you somewhere before?” Despite being in such a rush, the Action News anchor has paused to stare at you. You suppose your eye has already started to swell.

“Oh, no ma’am. I mean I used to do some commercials and stuff, I don’t think—”

“Got it! You’re the one who threw your powers away to hijack your OWN airship! We’d LOVE to have you on the show for an interview sometime, just shoot me a call— and now I’ve REALLY got to go!” As she dashes away towards the Megafootball field, you glance down at the paper in your hand. She’s hastily scribbled what you can only assume is her personal phone number. _I guess I’m too good for the secretary, now_. You stuff it into your pocket and continue on your way, fumbling for your key fob. You hope the limo tank’s first aid kit has an ice pack.

* * *

“Okay ladies, two more! Five, six, seven, kick!”

You pivot on your left leg and bring up your right to collide squarely with the target. The humanoid dummy wobbles a little. The four-armed ancient woman next to you does the same, and her dummy explodes in a miniature mushroom cloud. You sigh as you reset your position for the next rep. _Focus. Don’t look at them._ At the front of the dojo, Silverspark demonstrates the technique while calling out encouragement to the class. She often looks like she wants to offer you some special motivation, but she seems to have intuited that you’d prefer not to be singled out. It was bad enough that you arrived a few minutes late due to your run-in with Dynamite Watkins earlier, and therefore had to walk past everyone to your place at the back of the dojo. It’s humiliating that you have to attend fitness classes full of decrepit senior citizens— which you know from your days of snooping in the P.O.I.N.T. records began as a _mere front for their special assignment in the first place_— but you haven’t been able to figure out a better way to keep active that isn’t too intense for your… condition.

There’s no denying it: your body is weaker now than it ever has been, even when you were a child. Luckily, you took your grades in Strength just as seriously as your other classes, so your muscles still retain the physical benefits of years of near-daily workouts— particularly your shoulders and upper arms. However, it feels like no matter how much energy you put into your movements, it only results in half as much force as before. You can still jump, but not nearly as high. You can still maintain your balance, but not nearly as easily. You think you could probably still pick up Enid, but there’s no way you’ll be supporting the weight of her, her two friends, and yourself as you swing through the air on a rope anytime soon. It’s as though gravity, your oldest friend, which used to bolster you through all manner of acrobatic stunts, is now actively working against you whenever you so much as try to run. The physical weakness, as well as the attendant feeling of hopelessness, reminds you of last winter, when the Gifted and Talented course was busted. It had taken your body a couple of weeks to adjust to the sudden cutoff of the weekly Glorb powerup. It had taken your psyche even longer to grapple with the sudden void in your sense of self-worth.

Yes, this situation is kind of like that. Except it’s about a hundred times worse now, coupled with the knowledge that your condition is permanent. You can feel the finality of it with every breath you take.

Also, your eye stings. The ice pack did help quite a bit, but it’s still swollen, no doubt turning black. You can’t help but recall how your face had recovered in a couple of minutes from Enid kicking you and slamming you into the pavement. It had certainly been much quicker to heal than your pride.

You coil yourself around your left ankle and leap again. Your outstretched foot misses the target and collides with the side of the dummy, resulting in nothing more than a dull _thwack_. As the other former P.O.I.N.T. agents gather their things to leave, and Carol assures you that you’ll get it next time, all you can do is hang your head and try not to cry.


	5. Melody and Memory

The next Saturday, K.O. unexpectedly shows up on Enid’s doorstep, and they both drag you out of the house for some fun at the plaza. Enid swears up and down that K.O. will be devastated if the three of you don’t visit the Neo Rama Game Center to check out the new Whacky Jaxxyz Hyper VR station. He does seem excited about it, but you suspect that he’d enjoy it just fine without your presence. You’ve never been much for videos game (except for _Chip Adventure 2: Battle_). You feel like her insistence probably has more to do with the fact that she doesn’t know about your daily excursions while she’s out on assignments— after all, you’ve worked quite hard to conceal them from her. At the first crosswalk, K.O. automatically takes Enid’s hand for safety in crossing the street. After a moment’s hesitation, he grabs your hand as well. He doesn’t let go at the other side, so the three of you complete the trip arm in arm.

Once your group sets foot inside the arcade, K.O. takes off like an arrow towards the Jaxxyz booth, where a noisy mob of children has already formed. He really is adorable; you can almost imagine he’s a little puppy wagging his tail as he waits for his turn. You don’t really have much of an interest in Whacky Jaxxyz, however. You turn and wander off through the multicoloured array of flashing cabinets. Maybe they’ve got the arcade port of _Chip the Fighters_. To your annoyance, Enid follows you. She inserts a techno into a ninja fighting game and pretends to be immersed in playing, but you can tell that she’s carefully positioned herself to have both yourself and K.O. within view. Ridiculous. You come around the corner of the aisle towards her with the intention of informing her that you do not require babysitting, but an unfamiliar high-pitched voice calls out for your attention.

“Excuse me, Miss Elodie?”

“Hah?” You turn and look down to see a little girl with puffy hair in a pink dress tugging on the hem of your hoodie. She smiles shyly up at you, revealing sparkly braces on her teeth. She can’t be older than six-to-eleven. You glance up over the top of her head and are startled to see your own face beaming back at you. You hadn’t noticed this cabinet until now. The controllers are well worn, but this game isn’t very popular nowadays; there’s no one else within a good two-meter radius besides this one kid. A [familiar tune](https://lovers-instead.tumblr.com/private/187247073786/tumblr_JkqC6JXDxyyWqYnFa) blares out from the cabinet. The flashy lettering across the sign reads: _M__★__Elodie_.

You barely remember signing the contract for this thing. It seems so far away now. From what you remember, it’s a rhythm game… something about a girl who must dance any time she hears harp music. You must have licensed your image out for dozens of merchandise deals— games, toys, even a fashion line— but you’d assumed most of it would be rotting away in the Neutral Zone landfill by now. After all, you hid away in the Academy and vanished from the public eye after your disastrous attempt to covertly visit Enid at the plaza. There’s no way your general appeal was strong enough to withstand such a lack of engagement. You force yourself to resume breathing and return your attention to the child in front of you.

“Please, can I have your autograph? I have all of your dolls at home!”

You say something eloquent like, “Oh,” and take the pen and poster from the girl’s outstretched hands. Does she just carry this stuff around? You try not to cringe at the cocky sneer on your face on the poster. You really were such a little twit back then. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Enid having one of her signature conniptions. You smile at her to show that this isn’t traumatising you, then clear your throat and read aloud as you write.

“To my dear… what’s your name? To my dear Danielle… Never stop shining. Keep following your dreams, and one day you can be a super-star like me.” Enid is glaring at you, so you decide to add on a little extra to your standard signature. “But don’t forget: you are your own biggest fan. Only you can decide what you will become. Love, Elodie.”

* * *

_Stand up straight. Keep your chest high. Look at the notes. No, not at me. The book on the pianoforte. Now run this aria again. You’ve got to practice if you ever expect to make something of yourself._

_You try your best to keep your shoulders back as you sing. Your voice sounds high and thin, it comes out in chirps. You wish you could produce a deep, rich sound, like your mother. You steal one more glance at her. She looks so beautiful, even as a mere silhouette against the sunlight streaming through the grand window behind her. You don’t want to disappoint her, but you are getting tired after two hours of your lesson. She hates it when you get tired. At the piano, Geoffrey coughs. He’s getting tired, too._

_Stop, please. Reset to the beginning, both of you. It’s because you’ve been at that computer all night. I knew I shouldn’t have allowed you to see that delinquent girl. Just think of what your father will say. Failure is not an option. I said, don’t look at me!_

Sometimes, when you first wake up and lie in bed staring at the ceiling, you feel certain that you’ve just awoken from a long nightmare. Your eyes haven’t adjusted to the daylight yet, but in a moment you will sit up and recognize the familiar surroundings of your dorm room at P.O.I.N.T. Prep. Or maybe you will walk out into the gallery of the airship and finally confront Foxtail over this unethical Glorb excavation. Perhaps you are even in your own bedroom at home, and Enid is snoring beside you, and you will both be tired in school today from staying up so late reading graphic novels. But none of it is ever real. The truth of the matter is a constant: today is another day you have to get up and walk around like everything is fine, even though you’ve lost everything you’ve been working for your entire life.

You get up and pad over towards the door. Enid’s parents put you up in one of the nicer guest bedrooms, but you have to remember which floorboards are the weakest and avoid testing them, and you find a freshly spun spiderweb to clear away pretty much every day. A few seconds after you reach the doorway, as if on cue, there is a knock. You open the door to reveal Enid standing there with a half-eaten bagel, as though she just happened to wander up to the third floor on her way out of the kitchen in the basement. As always, she is dressed in her black fatigues, blue vest, and hot pink boots, ready for a day of secret missions. As always, she starts with an awkward comment about the weather, then moves on to begging you to come along to the plaza with her today. She’s sure Mr. Gar will have some work for you; they’re short-staffed at the bodega these days, even with Sparko helping out. As always, you hug her, wish her well on her way, and firmly shut the door in her face. You can hear a long moment of silence on the other side until she trudges away down the creaking corridor in defeat.

As soon as you’re certain Enid is gone, you spring into action. You change out of your pyjamas and into your usual attire. (Enid has long since given you leave to perform some alterations on her old hoodie. You haven’t worked with a needle in quite a while, but you managed to shorten the sleeves and hem the waistline.) Next, you plunk yourself down at the splintery desk and deploy your portable vanity. You’ve got to make yourself presentable.

This is possibly your least favourite part of your daily routine. What with your past life in the spotlight, you’re no stranger to the sight of your own face in the mirror. The familiarity is precisely what makes it so horrible. Most people probably wouldn’t notice much of a difference from before, but you are painfully aware of every little detail. Whereas you used to get by on a scant application of mascara, you now have to use a considerably greater amount of makeup to achieve the same level of natural beauty. Your skin used to glow of its own accord under any light, but now it carries a dullness that you counteract with foundation and highlighter. Your eye sockets are plagued by bags and dark circles no matter how much you sleep, so you attack them with concealer. Worst of all are your actual eyes themselves, which you can’t do anything to modify. For as long as you can remember, your irises shimmered with tiny pink flecks that constantly danced and sparkled about, especially when you used your powers or felt a strong emotion. Now, they are uniformly brown. Obviously, the minute details of your eyes are unnoticeable from any reasonable distance, but the mere knowledge of the change has worked wonders to undermine your confidence.

You finish applying your lip gloss and collapse the vanity. You’re just about ready to leave. You feel somewhat guilty for allowing Enid to believe that you just lie in bed moping day in and day out. Her compassion for your situation is genuine, you’re sure; you know she once feared similar rejection from her own parents. All the same, you simply cannot allow her to fuss over you like you’re going to break any second when you’re just trying to do your shopping. Yes, your ultimate goal is to avoid causing her extra work and inconvenience, it’s nothing at all to do with how she has _always_ had the upper hand in your relationship when it comes to gestures of kindness and it makes you sick with jealousy.

It’s not _really_ a lie, anyway. You do spend your share of time moping.

You crawl under the bed and retrieve your reusable grocery bag. Upon emerging, you pause to cough up a spiderweb. Then, you open the window and jump out of it. Although you deeply miss the feeling of soaring through the air using your grappling arrows, at least you still have the core strength to shimmy down a tree.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, you arrive at the Super Mega Food Mart XD. Gar’s Bodega is much closer, but it’s out of the question, and you prefer to drive a couple of townships away to do your shopping to avoid encountering people you know. You’re still getting the hang of providing for yourself like a commoner; your attempts at balancing your resources and budget so far have been nothing short of embarrassing. For reasons unknown, your parents have yet to cut off your access to your chequing account. You can’t imagine the motive is benevolent. Still, you intend to use the money as effectively as you can. Enid’s parents force you to sit down for a family dinner at least once a week, but you do your best to avoid imposing on them the rest of the time. Plus, you don’t think Icky and Boris like you very much. They’re always trying to scare you by rattling chains outside your bedroom door at night and turning the water red while you’re showering. So far, you haven’t been very successful at cooking anything besides fruit smoothies and beans on toast, but today you are buying the ingredients to make palak paneer.

You are in the middle of reaching for the freshest bunch of spinach when you see something that makes you freeze in place. It shouldn’t be possible… but there’s no mistaking it: Foxtail, dressed in a Laser-Hawaiian shirt and khaki slacks, is striding down the produce aisle directly towards you. You knew you should’ve made the trip to Battleburg instead. Perhaps she hasn’t seen you yet, there’s still time to hide. Without thinking, you grab two leafy bunches of spinach and hold them up in front of your face.

“… Elodie?” Drat. You slowly lower the spinach and place it nonchalantly in your shopping basket. You eye Foxtail nervously. She’d stopped walking just a few feet away and is now staring at you, mouth agape. You notice that her hair has more grey in it than before, but there’s no doubt that she can still pack a punch. She wouldn’t decide to avenge her powers and career right here in this supermarket, would she? Right? After all, she was the one who taught you the importance of maintaining civility and decorum in public.

Foxtail breaks the silence first. To your surprise, she quietly requests that you meet her outside. She would like to have a talk with you, in private. She doesn’t seem at all angry, so you let your guard down a little… though perhaps she’s just trying to get you away from witnesses. You pay for your groceries and make your way to a bench by the sidewalk outside the store.

Foxtail is already sitting there. She’s fiddling with her flip phone, and she doesn’t look up when you sit down. After a few minutes of awkwardly looking around the car park, you are forced to conclude that she is waiting for you to begin. You take a deep breath.

“Ms. Foxtail, I am so sorry for what I did to you. I should have tried harder. I should have thought of a better way.” There, you said it. When asked, you will always maintain that you have no regrets, but the truth is that the rashness of your decision keeps you awake every single night.

“No,” says Foxtail, “you showed great integrity on that day. You acted for the greater good of all of Lakewood, at great cost to yourself. I am so proud of you, Elodie.” You shake your head and close your eyes. It’s true that the Glorb excavation had to be stopped at all costs, but if you’d just had a little bit of a spine earlier, none of this would have happened.

“But,” you say, “isn’t it awful, knowing that all your potential was erased? Don’t you miss flying?” You hate the ache in your voice.

“Well, yes. But I’ve already had decades to enjoy those things.” She cringes. “I mean. My time is over now, and it’s up to the next generation— I mean— hot dog! How are you doing, Doc?”

You twitch the corner of your mouth and shrug your shoulders in an attempt to indicate that her accidental insensitivity hasn’t offended you. She’s already completely turned her attention to the grey alien who has just wheeled down the sidewalk towards the bench.

“My, isn’t that odd!” You exclaim, a little too loudly. “The only three non-kappas on the planet known to not have powers, all here in the same place? Heh?”

They exchange a look.

“Actually, Foxtail and I live together now,” says Greyman.

“Yep. Gene and Carol were nice about the whole plaza demolition incident, but they put me up in a little place a few blocks over from Carol’s. Keep an eye on me, you know. Especially with that Damage still flying around doing Cob knows what with my school. But I don’t mind…” Foxtail gets up and walks around to stand behind Greyman’s chair. She places her hand on his shoulder, and he reaches up and pats it. “Elodie,” says Foxtail, “I want you to remember that the one and only reason we are in this predicament is that I was totally obsessed with power. I lost sight of the important things in life. I understand now that I wouldn’t be here without the people I love supporting me. Like Doc here,” they smile at one another before Foxtail goes on, “and Carol, and Eugene— heck, we even ran into Rippy the other day!”

“Yes, she looked so well even after all these years,” says Greyman. “Even just sitting and chatting about our Ph.D’s made me feel that I did not have to carry my burden alone. Elodie…” The voids of Greyman’s eyes have always seemed to bore right through you, and right now is no exception. “Do you have people like that?”

“Uh…” Oh Cob. They both look so concerned. You’ve got to think of something. You stammer for a few more seconds before you manage to choke out, “Oh, yes, of course. Enid and her family have been very kind to me. They’re allowing me to stay with them.”

Greyman looks confused. “What about your parents?”

“Oh, they’re just fine. Charming as ever, you know, they’ve been… very sweet. I have to go now.” You abruptly stand and clumsily gather your things. “It was lovely to see both of you. Really, just an absolute thrill. _Do_ keep in touch, goodbye!” Before either of them has time to react, you’ve already hurried over to your limo tank. You scramble in through the hatch and slam it closed.

_Goodness, how embarrassing_, you think to yourself as you peel out of the car park. In your side mirror, you can see that Foxtail and Greyman are still huddled together at the bench. They seem to be discussing something fervently. _I really must get better at handling questions._


	6. You Have To Care

_Breathe in. Breathe out. Pull. Hold… and release._

You’ve done the motions thousands of times. For more than ten years, you’ve been seamlessly summoning your bow and manifesting your arrows to zap things with pure magical love energy. So it really doesn’t seem logical that transitioning to the mundane variant would be so _hard_. You recruited the child from the arcade to covertly purchase a standard bow and arrows from Gar’s Bodega and Hero Supply in exchange for another autograph. You then dragged the supplies deep into the spooky woods behind Enid’s house and hid them in the least life-threatening clearing you could find. Each night, after you’re reasonably sure that Enid is asleep, you steal out here to shoot arrows at a makeshift target that you made out of an apple juice bottle. It’s a little difficult to shoot in the dark, but so far the moonlight has been sufficient. You only practise for an hour or two, and then you stash your bow in a hollow log and slip back into the house long before sunrise. You’ve had one close call with Bernard and his midnight gardening so far; avoiding the notice of the nocturnal members of the family as you sneak out and in has been the chief struggle of this operation.

That, and getting the arrows to actually hit the target. You glare at the place where the arrow you just launched vanished into the trees. At least you didn’t hit one of the grenades that grow here, like you did last night. Aiming your magical arrows did take a degree of skill, which, theoretically, you should retain even now. After all, you can still use your back muscles to draw the bow (although you do feel somewhat sore from it). Your theory is that your current issues mostly stem from being several months out of practice— Foxtail forbade the use of individualised weapons by P.O.I.N.T. soldiers— and your accuracy should start to improve after a few more nights of regular training. Still, you remember that you used to be able to guide the trajectory of your arrows with your feelings, to _will_ them to their destination. Perhaps you had grown a bit over-reliant on the emotional connection between yourself and your weapon over the underlying technique. Now your aim feels out of control to an absurd degree. You do hit the bottle about a third of the time, but this is not much of a consolation, considering you made every single shot you attempted in the past several years until now.

Gritting your teeth, you take out another arrow and nock it. _Breathe in. Breathe out. Pull. Hold… and_— the fingers on your draw hand slip. The arrow floppily zooms into the ground only 2 meters in front of you. The bowstring scrapes along the inside of your hand.

“Cob _damn_ it!” You fling the bow down at your feet and raise your right hand to examine. The skin on three of your fingers and part of your palm is shiny and raw. This has never happened to you before, but you’ve read about it in multi-instrumentalist heroes whose powers don’t inherently deal in archery. You’re going to need to build up calluses on your draw hand. And iron out your pathetically clumsy release technique. Your eyes water.

“Jeez, El. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say anything stronger than ‘piffle-poff.’”

Startled, you yelp and turn around too quickly. You lose your balance and fall flat on your backside. Enid laughs as she emerges from the shadows under the grenade trees.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you,” Enid says. To your surprise, she sits down on the grass next to you.

“How long have you been following me?” You ask. She doesn’t answer for a moment as she withdraws a roll of her arm bandages from her ninja hammerspace. You allow her to take your scraped right hand and wrap it.

“Well, on Thursday your little fan club president bought a bow that was way too big for her at Gar’s. And last night I got woken up by an explosion that sounded suspiciously familiar, like that time I accidentally hit a grenade tree trunk with my fireball. Remember, when we used to train out here together?” You jerk your hand away from her. Of course you remember. You should have known better than to try to hide from a ninja. You exhale through your nose, but you don’t say anything.

Enid frowns. “Okay, I get that you don’t feel like talking. But it would be nice to have some kind of explanation for all this sneaking around and lying.”

“Oh, come on now.” You take great umbrage at this last remark. It’s not _lying_, it’s careful concealment. “Would I ever deceive you, Enid, my super amazing best friend for all time?”

“Yes.”

“… Well, true. But you just get so worked up about everything! It’s not that big a deal!”

“‘Worked up?’ It’s called trying to help!” Enid’s eyes are such a dark shade of grey that they usually appear black, but they look pretty in the moonlight. Like silver. You look away.

“I…” You swallow. “I know. I’m sorry. I do appreciate everything you’ve done for me. It’s just so hard to face you, knowing that I’m a fr— like this. Having to rely on you for everything, it makes me feel… weak. Helpless.”

“The last thing I want to do is make you feel helpless. Just try to trust me a little more, okay? You know I’m here for you.” She reaches out, so you lean forward and hug her. Once again, you can’t help but marvel at the depths of her loyalty and compassion. This time, you don’t feel any bitterness towards her or yourself. After all that’s happened the past few years, you’re just grateful that Enid calls you her friend. You both settle back and look up at the stars.

“I’m going back out there, you know.” You don’t risk looking at her. “I’m going to become a hero people can look up to again, regardless of my powers. Just watch.”

“Jeez, you’re so stubborn!” Enid slugs you in the shoulder. You can tell that she’s grinning. “I’ve always loved that about you.”

You mock wince in pain and rub your shoulder, but you return her smile. Perhaps Foxtail was right. You shouldn’t try to deal with everything on your own. For the first time since you stood before your parents in the parlour more than a month ago, you don’t feel guilt burning at the back of your throat.

* * *

“Hey, Elodie! I think you missed a spot over there!”

Radicles dodges and sticks his tongue out as you swipe at him with the handle of your mop. Today, after a solid month of pleading, Enid has finally convinced you to visit the bodega. There are no special missions from Gar, so the morning has been mostly spent in awkward silence. Somehow, you were roped into “trying out” the various tasks of a bodegaman. So far, you’ve attempted to take inventory with a scanning gun (success) and to clean out the lightning nachos machine (spectacular failure). Now you’re onto mopping the floor. It’s not particularly difficult, except for the fact that every fibre of your high-class upbringing is howling in torture at being forced to perform such menial labour. You spy an ominous purple stain on the tiles near the candy aisle and scrub at it vigorously. You turn to request Radicles’s professional approval, but the space in which he was previously obnoxiously lounging is now empty. In fact, you can’t see him, Enid, or K.O. anywhere in the store.

“Where did they go?” You muse aloud. You lay your mop aside and reach for your phone. Suddenly, you hear a _boom_ from outside. You look towards the windows, but you can’t see anything for the roiling clouds of purple smoke that are covering the car lot. Seconds later, the automatic doors _whoosh_ open and K.O. scurries inside. Before the doors close behind him, you hear a barrage of clashing metal sounds and yelling. You hurry over to him.

“What’s wrong?” You ask. He looks pretty banged up.

“Elodie!” He pauses to pant for a second. “I really don’t wanna bother you, but we need your help! Usually, Boxmore only sends one robot, but today they sent…” He counts on his fingers. “… Four! And there’s only **three** of us! Can you help us? Please?”

Part of you says that this must be a trick. It is obviously a ploy to “help” your “self-esteem” and it is rooted in pity. This part of you wants to curl your lip in disgust. But another part of you— a small, tender area deep in your heart that resonates with the memory of Enid saying _trust me_— wants to believe the boy looking up at you. He’s employed the sniffling puppy dog eyes, now, which are doing a fantastic job at nullifying your cynical side. You smile.

“Of course I’ll help,” you say. You reach out and ruffle the hair on the top of his head, to which he responds by sticking his tongue out. Gah, this kid is too cute. You glance around to make sure no one else is in the store, then say, “Right. Let’s get going, then… _KOsuperchipfan11_.”

Giggling, you turn and hurry out of the bodega before K.O. before he has time to process what you said. You take your bow from its place on your back and nock an arrow. Thanks to a generous application of ninja bandages, you’ve been able to practise without much damage to the skin of your hands, and your aim has improved considerably. You break into a full run as you approach the scuffle between heroes and robot minions, and the giant dust cloud the action has produced. It’s time to put all of your hard work to the test. _Breathe in. Breathe out. Pull. Hold… and release._

* * *

Reference for powerless Elodie! Huge thanks to my sister (finereader on tumblr) for helping me make it:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT TIME: It turns out Watkins and Greyman showed up for a reason. Damage's new puppetmaster comes out of the shadows. Various big reveals transpire, and K.O. reacts accordingly. Red Action changes the course of history. Just why are Elodie's parents so uptight, and what does it have to do with Dendy? Someone gets automail. Plaza Prom... TWO!! Sometimes, things just don't work out the way you hoped, no matter how hard you try.
> 
> Do I have all of these things more or less planned out? Yes. Will I ever write it? Probably not!


End file.
